


And With Arrows Through Everything

by drvology



Category: SKAM (Norway)
Genre: Evak - Freeform, M/M, fic-a-month, my 2018 challenge
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-01
Updated: 2018-05-01
Packaged: 2019-04-30 14:19:24
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,876
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14498868
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/drvology/pseuds/drvology
Summary: The small things Even alone finds, but both know to treasure.





	And With Arrows Through Everything

**Author's Note:**

> Stream of consciousness because I started this @ 9:45 my time (and before midnight when I hit post, hah) and whoops, I'm almost out of April. Took inspiration from a few fevered convos with dear riyku. Carda = their cat, from a different Evak fic I wrote; I figure she should be here too. || In 2018 I'm hoping to write 1 fic a month. This is 04/12. Fic for April.

Isak sees it—whatever it is—in the tuck of Even's broad palm. Isak sees it in the shine of Even's eyes. The hot pink dusting Even's cheeks.

He grabs Even's wrist and they twist in the aisle, him trying to get a look and Even trying to keep him from it. Finally he huffs, rolls his eyes, waggles the card and pretty spiral notebook set he got for Sana—a sort of thank you present for dragging him and his grade up through the year—starts walking.

"Come on," he says, like he doesn't care if Even follows, like his heart isn't tied to Even's in matching beats and tethers, like he wouldn't come to an abrupt halt if he gets too far away.

Even insists on paying, elbows Isak. "Hey, who has the job? The big payday yesterday?" he asks, all eyebrows and swagger, hiding that he's hiding the palmed book he's buying along with Sana's gift.

Isak doesn't push. He's learned there's things he doesn't have to track or test or mind same as he's learning the things to never allow to get past his grasp or too much. Even's twinkling teasing deep dimples laughter tells him all he needs to know. That this is no worry, will be shared soon enough anyway.

They meander to their apartment, stop for coffee and sweet buns and fruit for later, and as they leave each store Isak tightens his hand in Even's. Even's other hand has tight hold of the _it was an expensive book and unique gift shop_ bag, lavender crisp paper and silky gray braided handles and a silver monogram.

It's when they're home Even's suddenly shy, stuffs the paperback in his back pocket, tries to distract Isak deploying kisses and teasing and playing with Carda. It works for a while, also works because Isak isn't worried, their hearts in synch and Even's steady and good and clear thump-thump, echoing his.

Finally finally finally after dinner and making zero progress in Skyrim because Even gets distracted collecting and caring for stray dogs, and then rubbing off against each other in the shower, Even lowers onto their bed with two cups of tea, flea market finds flowers on them mismatched but a matched set, and the unknown, known about book.

For once Even isn't spilling over as Isak expected, after the sparking eyes and high blushes and anticipation clearly tautening Even's nerves. Even's quiet, absorbed in Isak's reaction.

"Look what I found. I want to read it—together."

Isak turns the book over in his hands. It's a romance novel but the cover isn't historical dress or wind-whipped flowing tresses. It's a guy and another guy and they stand apart, cheesy naked torsos and brooding, a moody atmospheric fog wrapping around them. He skims the title, the summary, glances at Even and can't—won't—bluff. He grins, hands it back.

"Read it aloud to me," Isak invites, sips his tea, curls back into Even as Carda purrs and kneads his lap.

Even's breath whooshes, relief, was prepared to be embarrassed and to coax and wheedle. Isak leans close, kisses the corner of Even's mouth, the rounded tip of Even's nose, the furrowed vee at the bridge. He doesn't care about romance novels but he cares about what catches Even's fancy.

Even grins and then Even is cracking the binding, splaying the book in one hand, reading, slow and steady and chapter after chapter.

They trade after four, give Even a break give Even the chance to listen to Isak tell this. A story that's told like it's everything. But told like it's nothing different, new, beyond the reach of the sun. A story that's a romance novel but a romance same as theirs.

It's good and weird and giddy to hear it, to read it, this unfolding story told same and reverential and wonderfully cliché as any other. To get excited during the sex scenes and need a kiss, Even on top of him, Even needing to weigh him down as they surge together, book dropped to the floor momentarily forgotten. To keep reading it gritty-eyed too late as dawn breaks and Even whispers the happily ever after final words.

They resonate, so softly plied against Isak's skin, and his heart glows because Even is so pleased with it.

Even reaches past Isak to scrabble a hand on the floor, returns triumphant with a marker, draws an arrow across the book cover. It takes flight, connects the heroes who were destined to fall in love forever and beyond, connects this new _thing_ Isak can tell they're going to embark on with a past, continuing, thing.

He's learned about those, too. How Even fixates. Will listen to the same song on repeat for days, will track down every last tidbit about a random obscure something, will want to replay forty-seconds of a movie over and over having to see each and every incremental movement. How Isak sings along without complaint, listens to the recitations of facts, will track down or make gifs from those scenes. How settled and understood and good that makes Even in return.

Months ago it was pictures of beaches. Clipped from magazines, hung on every wall of their apartment, names from around the world memorized and reeled off in lists at random occasion.

Eventually Isak dug to the root of that one.

A sea to a shore, a come and go and restless tide, the eternal anchor of land.

For Even it was about him—them—glittered like dancing water and froth and foam caressing a familiar land in his imagination. Isak didn't have to stretch to understand it. Once he did, finding the meaning on his own after teasing hints and bits from Even, the beaches faded from view.

The metaphor stayed. So did the one beach watercolor Even bought from an artist at a street fair, moved to their permanent wall of ever-changing mementos and building memories. But the clippings and Drini, Ora, Citara, Corozal peppering every conversation was forgotten.

Isak satisfied the equation, navigated to the center of the maze, conquered the quest. He'd swooned some, called Even mushy, and they laughed and kissed and Isak trounced Even in Mario Cart.

Even moved on.

A musical to memorize that somehow reminded him exactly of them. Everything about bees, because Isak loves honey. Building their own cabin from lumber reclaimed from old piers and docks—a bit of that sea, that shore—rough blueprints and sketches and practice dovetailing and mortice and tenons joins in scrap lumber filling the apartment.

But always, from way before the beaches and way before the things that came before the beaches, Even has scribbled arrows. Three stick feathers each side below the nock. An arrowhead, lean and swooping and bold. The shaft, sometimes long and wobbly, sometimes short and sure.

Isak has found arrows drawn on everything. One day it was a bunch radiating from Even's heart, arrowhead penetrating the center feathers every direction out, permanent marker that took weeks to leech away. One day it was his own forehead, quick pen, arrowhead at his widow's peak and feathers feathering his nose, took only a scrubbing from a washcloth to get it washed off.

One week Even kept a stack of sticky notes in a hand and slapped up arrow after arrow in follow of Isak. When Isak turned his head and said something Even would whap them in a line on the cabinets in the kitchen. When Isak shouted laughter Even leapt from the bed and littered the far window with a quiverful. When Isak grumbled a curse over homework Even made several dark marker ones and dropped them on the floor under the dining table.

One day Isak murmured _I need it I need you fuck me_ , _please_ , Even dragged a fingernail over their skin, drew a single arrow where their hips were pressed tight together.

He touches all of them, feels Even's intent behind each, even though he doesn't understand them.

Isak takes the book, traces the arrow he doesn't quite get. A riddle he hasn't teased the knot loose from yet. They reread the final chapter, and Even kisses him kisses him kisses him kisses him. They sleep into the afternoon, and he wakes to Even shoving a sandwich at him and urging him into clothes and shoes and back to that bookstore.

The first week after that is heady and a jam-packed flurry of stories that run together in Isak's mind. Even reads many first, too impatient to wait for Isak to get done with school or homework, but they read each again together.

The second week slows. Isak is relieved. He actually enjoys the books, does thrill along with Even that it's normal other people read these boys falling in love and finding their sunsets to walk into books, and really enjoys Even's enthusiasm and relief and joy in finding _this like them like us_. But he doesn't have Even's stamina or wiring for obsessive intake.

The third week and Even announces they'll start a book club. One book a month. Worked in between slinging coffee and taking a weekend at a cabin he wants to see for the design and learning how to hand-dig a canoe from a log.

The arrows remain, always here and there, a constant. Drawn on each finished book. Still on sticky notes. Still traced on their skin.

"Who will be in this book club?" Isak tilts his head in thought.

Even gathers him close, sways them to a tuneless tune hummed Isak recognizes from that musical of months ago. "You. Me. Carda."

"I like this book club."

"I thought you would." Even smiles, eyes locked on Isak's smile. "Bow and Arrow Book Club."

Isak shakes his head. "I'm never going to get this one."

He realizes that doesn't quite make sense but Even smiles, gets him.

"Sebastian. Orion. Apollo." Even drags a fingertip over Isak's lips. "Lu Bu. Heracles. Karna." He leans in, touches his tongue to Isak's lips, corner, center, corner. "Cupid."

Isak is still shaking his head but he kisses Even back, laughs and huffs and tries to spin away as Even draws an arrow in the air.

"Your mouth is perfect." Even swallows, blushes a sudden rush, blinks but doesn't falter. "A perfect bow. Sharp upper. Full curving lower. Fitting together just right, an unbroken seam. Then you lick your lips and it's like notching an arrow, and you talk and the arrows fly. Cupid's bow, through everything, connecting and changing, but without harm." Even blinks again, sudden tears. "The first time I saw you—you laughed and then your smile turned soft and your gaze dropped like you were thinking something only for you, and I knew I was meant to hear it too somehow—an arrow pierced my heart."

"Oh," Isak at last says after a long silence.

He doesn't know how to answer that, but Even doesn't seem to think he needs to.

"Right? See," Even breathes out, kisses Isak deep and full.

Isak nods. Pulls Even into him, pulled by the match of their hearts, connected from that first smile. Smiles here, now, imagines arrows flying every which way like sparks from their kiss.


End file.
